Distractions
by AxelFlurryofDancingFlames
Summary: Beatty attempts to remind Montag of what's important in their society... Montag/Beatty, Yaoi


I wrote this a while back, but feel free to review!

Warnings: Yaoi

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><p>"It is of general opinion you need something to distract you, Montag."<p>

Beatty's words hit the fireman just as he'd been preparing to dash out of the door. The earbud connecting him to Faber crackled slightly, but no words came. Montag was grateful. He knew it had been stupid to let himself be the last one in the firehouse with the captain, especially when there was work to be done. Beatty always managed to muddy the water when it came to good judgment.

"I'm worried about you," Beatty continued when Montag did no more than stop walking, "The fever seems to have come back. You're losing reality. "Never trade a certainty for an uncertainty". Good line from a pointless book." He approached slowly, raising his hand to Montag's forehead as if to check for real sickness. "My, you always have been easy to rile up."

Montag felt himself shake slightly, and the world started swimming. It was always like that when it came to Beatty.

"Just calm down."

Faber's voice cut through the eerie silence, and Montag took a deep breath. "I need to go home to my wife."

A rough laugh, and Beatty mouthed the word "book". "I see how torn this is making you. There's a quick fix, an age old remedy. I see the burning isn't jogging your memory. That's okay, you just need a better remedy. Something immediate, something i_real/i_." Leaning in so Montag could feel the captain's breath on his ear, he continued in a low voice, "I'm real." As soon as the words were uttered, he leaned back on the balls of his feet and gave the younger fireman a smirk.

It took a few seconds for the meaning of his words to sink in, and Montag felt his palms go sweaty. The dirty feeling, that he'd done something wrong, returned full force from when he'd stolen that first book. Trying to avoid Beatty's gaze, he wished Faber would say something helpful. Still, the earbud remained silent, listening for its wearer's next move.

"…My wife." Montag tried again, but he knew it wouldn't work. Beatty read him like a book. He had probably already seen the crevasse growing between Montag and Mildred. Montag desperately wished he could think of something better, but it was like all thought had rushed out of him.

"What Mildred doesn't know won't hurt her. Besides, I'm sure a cure for you would be welcome development for her, too. What do you say? There's a bed over there. I sleep there all the time. That's where I dreamt the books turned against you." Beatty grabbed for Montag's wrist, already pulling him towards it.

Overwhelmed, Montag simply let himself be jerked along. It wasn't right… Then Mrs. Phelps's words came back to him, "We're independent. Be independent." Then Clarisse's in regard to how people never talked. Then Beatty joined in the symphony, going on about 3D sex magazines and books turning against people. It all started swimming and suddenly he was on the bed with Beatty's weight resting uncomfortably on his lower body. There were two Montags then, one who protested with all his might and then the one who kind of understood what Beatty meant. In the end, he only managed a half-strangled noise when Beatty rubbed his ass against where it was resting.

"That's more like it. Just embrace it. You deserve a little fun every once in a while. How long has it been since you and Mildred have lain together? I can see it's been pretty long. There, I certainly don't mind if you buck your hips. I'm just accommodating your needs. Thoughtless fun. Immediate results."

"Don't listen to him," Faber's voice finally cut through, blending in with the Montag who wanted to throw Beatty off and onto the floor. It was a small noise, though, largely overcome by the new noises. Before he knew it, Montag's hands were gripping Beatty's hips as they grinded against each other. A second later, he was trying to push the other man off, thinking that he was just trying to trick him.

Beatty stayed firmly on, putting a finger to Montag's lips. With a start, the younger fireman realized he had been wailing the word, "Stop!".

"Haven't I told you I like the way your face gets when it's panicked?"

Despite the situation, Montag couldn't help but calm at the captain's influence. Fun... Disgusting… Independent… _Real_… Everything else faded into nonexistence as his hands pried for the fasteners on Beatty's clothing. They were well-known to him. In uniform, their clothes were the same. Same… No room for individual thought… Montag thought of the books and what Clarisse had said and what Faber was saying and yet he still helped jerk off Beatty's jacket with numb, impersonal fingers.

"Now, isn't this fun? Who needs books when you can be happy? All they bring is melancholy. Too much brain-numbing thought. It's time for you to move on."

Beatty just kept talking, more chatter to blend in with the thoughts already stumbling through Montag's muddled brain as he removed more sweaty clothes from both bodies- two bodies that now seemed to be one. One struggling mass. Lips brushed. Thick, bloody liquid ran from the marks made from Beatty's fingernails on Montag's shoulders. Montag barely felt it, his arms wrapped around the captain's back, sticking with sweat. Now that they were both fully unclothed, Beatty was moving himself into position, Montag guiding him.

Clarisse, Mildred, Faber, Beatty, book, fire, immediate, no fun. Powerless. A crackling silence from the earbud. A grunt, a groan, and Montag had thrust up into Beatty. More blood as the captain's fingernails dug farther into Montag's shoulders. A fistful of hair Beatty had pulled out. Fun, fun, fun. All society needed.

The two fireman moved together, Montag's hands having transferred back to Beatty's hips. Drops becoming increasingly violent. More blood… From Beatty, this time? Lips pushed roughly together and tongues collided, leaving saliva all over Montag's lower face.

Breathing suddenly became a problem for Montag, going faster and faster until he was practically hyperventilating. Beatty had also started to moan, which made it all worse for some reason.

Another crash down, thrust up. They hit climax at the same time, leaving them both with breathing problems. Hands clenched around each other, more blood, and semen everywhere. Suddenly drained, Montag lightly tugged at Beatty's hair. Mumbling. "Off…"

The weight on Montag's lower body relieved. Crashing down next to him on the tiny bed, the fire captain threw an arm around the book-stealer.

"See what I mean?" Beatty breathed. "See why we should do this more often?"

Unable to respond, Montag buried his head into Beatty's chest and fell into a fitful sleep.


End file.
